


Inner Fire

by the_pale_rider



Series: Assassin's Creed Rider!AU [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Rider!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham leads the ambush on the Braddock Expedition, intent on making Edward pay for his crimes. Afterwards, he learns that there may be more important things than vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inner Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Haytham l'ordre](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/106539) by CaptainBerunov. 



> Ok so this is my first attempt at writing for Assassin's Creed, and it's an AU that I love (so all the pressure!) and it's my first time writing any sort of romance. Comments would be appreciated!

Haytham stood amongst the Native American warriors as they prepared for the ambush. Braddock’s expedition was marching along the path not far from their position, intent on taking Fort Duquesene and in defiance of the truce offered by the French. Truly, he was no longer the man that he’d met years before. This man was consumed by bloodlust and warmongering and no longer cared for the Order’s beliefs or goals. Not only would his death remove his stain from the Order’s history, but would open the way to the Precursor storehouse.

Several of the Native Americans crept forward, moving down into the foliage with surprising stealth. Not that the British Regulars were not known for their initiative or awareness, he thought. Like the other European empires, the British was stagnating, overburdening its colonies and fomenting ill feeling towards the monarchy and Colonial government. Only under the Templars’ guidance could civilisation reach its true potential. And men like Edward Braddock were holding everyone back, too concerned with their own base desires to think about the greater good.

“They come.” Ziio came up beside him. Following her up to the ridge, he saw Braddock riding past, elaborating on about how they needed more land and that the French were planning to stop that. 

“Now is the time to strike,” demanded Ziio.

“Wait,” he cautioned. “To scatter the expedition is not enough. We must ensure that Braddock falls. Else he’s sure to try again.” Thinking quickly, he came up with plan. “I’ll disguise myself as one of his own and make my way to his side. Your ambush will provide the perfect cover to strike the killing blow.”

Moving quickly but quietly, he crept through the tall bushes, keeping low to the ground. The sound of nearby voices alerted him to what must be a scout camp for the expedition. The perfect place to pick up a uniform. Moving up behind a soldier standing guard, he stabbed his Hidden Blade deep into his back whilst clamping a hand over the man’s mouth. Hiding the body in the bushes, he worked through the others, stealthily killing them all bar one. The last he choked unconscious, needing a uniform that wasn’t splattered with blood. Quickly changing, he mounted the man’s horse and rode to join the expedition.

He moved steadily through the British ranks, careful not to draw attention to himself. There were at least 2000 men here. Hopefully the ambush would draw their attention away when he made his move. Seeing Braddock up ahead, he urged the horse forward.

“Have served, you mean,” he heard Braddock sneer as he approached.

“Sir?” The soldier Braddock had spoken to seemed unware of the danger he was in.

“You are grateful to have served,” the general spat, before drawing a pistol and shooting the innocent man dead.

“Edward!” Riding up to his former friend, Haytham pulled his pistol and pointed it across his waist. “Not so fun on the other end of the barrel, is it?”

Before Edward could reply, a cry went up as a French soldier came charging out of the forest. Haytham heard the loud crack of a musket shot and the man dropped dead. In the distance, he spotted a British Regular salute him. It was Charles. Clearly, sending him back to Braddock had been a good idea. Nodding his thanks, he turned back to confront Edward, only to find him fleeing.

“Where are you off to Edward?”

\---------------

The Native Americans must have thought the shot was his signal to attack. As he rode after Braddock, they appeared out of the forest, leaping from bushes and dropping from trees. The expedition degenerated in chaos as powder kegs exploded and the British tried to rally and fight back. 

Haytham rode on, intent on catching Braddock. He could feel the heat burning inside him, spreading through his body. He wasn’t quite sure what triggered his transformation. Violence? Protecting the innocent? To mete out justice? Perhaps it was whenever he willed it? No matter, he wanted to now. As he pulled and spurred his horse onwards, he embraced the fire inside him. The burning sensation engulfed him, but it did not hurt. He felt it sear away his skin and muscle, leaving only bone. It spread, covering his horse; its head and body became more skeletal whilst its mane, tail and hooves were replaced with crackling streaks of hellfire. 

Men screamed in fear as he rode past, leaving scorch marks on the ground and the smell of brimstone. He was faster now, his horse released from mortal limitations. He charged forwards, easily reaching Edward. A tree groaned as it was felled, blocking the Bulldog’s escape. Startled, the horse threw him from the saddle. Scrambling to get up, he turned and saw Haytham.

“My god! Haytham! What are you?!”

He rode up slowly, enjoying Edward’s fear. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh growl.

“I am the Rider. And you will pay for your crimes and betrayal of the Order.”

He dismounted and strode over to Braddock’s trembling form. Grabbing him by the collar, he easily lifted him up to face level. His burning sockets bored into Edward. Into his very soul…

A loud crack echoed and a bullet smashed into the Rider’s skull, knocking sideways. Snarling at the interruption, the Rider threw Edward to the ground and turned to face his attacker. A solider. The Rider knew him. It knew all humans.

“George Washington. I have no quarrel with you. Leave now.”

Faced with a supernatural, burning skeleton, Washington wisely turned and ran. Turning back to Braddock, the Rider saw he was trying to flee.

“You cannot run from judgement Edward.”

“Please! I don’t deserve this!”

Catching up with him, the Rider grabbed him and brought him back to eye level. Back to the Penance Stare. He saw every sin Edward had done in his life. Massacres. Torture. The murder of innocents. He tightened his grip on Edward’s throat and the fire wreathing his skull burned brighter.

“You will feel their pain.”

Edward felt every wound, every beating and every shot that he had either meted out himself, or ordered. Bullets tore through him, blades cut into him, fists pummelled him. He heard the screams of the innocents he had slaughtered. Their cries for mercy. He screamed as he was forced to relive it all, unable to hide, unable to look away. It burned his mind. Burned his soul. 

The Rider released Edward, having nothing more to show him. The orange flames around his skull crackled and spat sparks as he stared down at him. The Stare had driven him mad. He was twitching and moaning, insensate and unaware of his surroundings. Unsheathing his Hidden Blade, he stabbed down hard and quick. Edward froze and then went limp, his breath rattling from his mouth.  
“Farewell Edward.” He turned and walked away, not looking back.

He breathed in deeply, willing the Rider to retreat back inside him. He knew what its appearance could do to people. The hungry flames receded, flesh replacing the flames. Ziio came up to him. Evidently, the ambush had been a success.

“It’s done,” he said, indicating to Braddock’s body.

She nodded and placed the key in his hand, turning to walk away.

“Now I’ve held up my part of the bargain. I expect that you will honour yours,” he continued, walking after her.

Turning back, she simply said, “Follow me.”

\---------------

The storehouse was located at the back of a cave, the smooth wall decorated with Native American symbols. Walking towards it with key in hand, Haytham noticed linear groves beginning to glow dimly. He brushed his hand across the wall, seeking an opening or door. He found a recess in the wall, but it was meant for something far larger and spherical. 

“No..no!” His anger and disappointment flared in his chest, hot and sharp. After all the waiting, all the planning, he failed now at the final step. The heat burnt inside, threatening to engulf him. He fought it. He couldn’t let Ziio see him like that. Wisps of smoke began to curl up from his collar. His eyes burned with an inner fire, bright and hot. Clenching his fists and breathing hard, he regained control of himself.

“You seem…disappointed,” came the dry voice from behind him. 

Turning to face her, “I thought that I held a key that would open something here…”

“This room is all there is,” she replied, turning round to look at the cave.

“I expected…more,” he sighed. “What do they mean?” he asked, looking back at the wall and its drawings.

“It tells the story of Iottsitison, who came into their world and shaped it for what life might come,” she replied, walking up to the wall. “She had a hard journey, fraught with great loss and peril.” She circled back round towards him. “But she believed in her children and what they might achieve. And though she is long gone from the physical world – her eyes still watch over us. Her ears still hear our words. Her hands still guide us.” Her hand brushed along his back. “And her love still gives us strength.” Her hand slid down and their fingers intertwined.

Looking up from their hands, he looked at her. “You have shown me great kindness, Ziio. Thank you.”

“I…I should go…” But before he could, she reached out and pulled him to her lips. The simmering fire inside his chest cooled, replaced by a different kind of warmth. It was more…human.


End file.
